


A passing thunderstorm

by Julie_Anne



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Anne/pseuds/Julie_Anne
Summary: Day 5Prompts - “In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.” Charles Bukowski/ cuddling/ greyThis would probably fit as a prequel to «I am still alive».A few months after the end of the War, Clive is still far from recovered. A thunderstorm brings all the horrors back.





	A passing thunderstorm

The day had been cold and grey. Massive clouds, dark and heavy with rain had been rolling and gathering, and a thunderstorm was approaching. Carefully, Anne shut the doors on the bedroom windows. It was raining outside, and the wind, though not very strong, was whistling through the old wooden window frames with a menacing sound. Clive hated the rain and the wind, and she wouldn’t have anything disturb him if she could avoid it.

\- Clive…? – she called.

He was changing in the dressing room, and his muffled answer came at once.

\- I’ll be out in a minute, my dear…

As he was entering the room, a big thunder echoed, its strong sound rattling the window panes. Clive’s heart nearly stopped. He made a tremendous effort not to follow the natural impulse of rolling onto the floor and curl into a ball, from sheer terror. His whole body desperately demanded safety and the cornered animal inside his brain was screaming «Danger! Run! Hide!»

It all happened in just a few seconds. Anne heard the thunder, looked up in alarm and saw Clive’s contorted face, eyes screwed shut, all muscles tense with the effort to stay put. He was muttering «The. War. Is. Over. It’s. Just. A. Thunder. Storm.» through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips. Swiftly, she covered the few steps separating her from Clive and held him in her arms, softy but firmly pushing his head onto her shoulder, and whispering soothingly.

\- There, there… I’m here, Clive, I’m here with you…

She used the same tone, the same words she used with the baby, a reassuring and hypnotic sound, and as soon as she felt him relax a little, she pulled him towards the bed. A second thunder roared. Clive tensed again. Poor Clive, she thought, he had such will power! How hard he fought the fear, the will to run and hide!

\- No, Clive, no, it’s only the storm, love, only the storm… I’m here with you…

Slowly, she made him sit on the bed and then lie down. She had left a hot water bottle wrapped in a flannel under the bedclothes half an hour earlier and the warmth made the trembling man in her arms relax a bit. She pulled the bedcovers over him, still speaking softly, just like she did when putting Leslie to bed.

\- I’m here, my love… you are safe…

From under the blankets, Clive’s voice came in a rasp whisper:

\- Anne…?

\- I’m right here, Clive… What is it?

\- Stay with me, please…

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. Clive had been home for almost three months now, and not only had he never asked her to stay with him but he had seemed to recoil when she came closer. She had been fearing his determination to suffer all alone, Doctor Hoper had specifically warned her about it.

\- Of course, my dear. Just let me turn the light out…

As she turned the light switch, another thunder sounded, weaker now, distant. Even across the room she felt the man’s intense, animal fear, and ran to join him. The heavy silver-grey silk shawl she had been wearing over her nightgown slipped form her shoulders, but she ignored it. She kicked her slippers and slipped under the bedclothes. Clive turned to hide in her arms, still trembling. One last thunder sounded, distant, feeble. Clive shivered. Anne softly pulled his head and led him to nestle against her.

\- I’m here, my love… you are safe, and you are not alone.

Slowly, very slowly, by almost imperceptible degrees, he relaxed, his breathing steadied, his heart stopped pounding and returned to the normal beat, the trembling subsided, and he fell deeply asleep. Anne did not. She held him in her arms and silently cried for the pain of the broken man she loved so much, for the horrors he had witnessed, for the millions of men who had died, for the millions of women like her who lay in the dark cuddling a man against unknown fears and wondering if he would ever really be well again.

When Clive opened his eyes, it was morning, a feeble ray of January sunshine had slipped through a tiny crack in the wooden window door, Anne slept by his side, and he was still alive.


End file.
